


Sleeping with Ghosts

by dramady, edonyx



Category: Adam Lambert - Fandom, American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-03
Updated: 2010-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramady/pseuds/dramady, https://archiveofourown.org/users/edonyx/pseuds/edonyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> A stay in a haunted hotel leads to more than either Adam or Tommy bargained for.<br/><b>Author's Notes</b>: See information <a href="http://www.prairieghosts.com/hollywood7.html">here</a> for information about the Hotel Roosevelt.</p><p> </p><p><b>Disclaimer:</b> This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping with Ghosts

"Just consider it a late birthday present," Tommy reasons, adjusting the strap on his backpack. "I mean, it was what, a couple hundred bucks a head for the two of us to spend the night here? And you _know_ how much I'm into horror. This'll be great, even if it's just an _experience._" Ghouls? Ghosts? Things that go 'bump' in the night? Get real. They've got their overnight bags, not needing much more since they're in a _hotel_, of all things, and Tommy _loves_ the idea of being around spooky Hollywood. "What's the room number?" The Roosevelt Hotel. _Awesome._

If Adam was going to do this, he figured _this_ would be the way to do it. They might even see the ghost of Montgomery Clift! Who was gorgeous back in the day, right? And gay. Solidarity, living or dead. Or something.

Anyway. Not that Adam is into ghostbusting, or _experiencing_. He's not. But they check in and he's all about asking about the ghosts, but the look on the clerk's face dissuades him of that. Fair enough. Though there is a brochure that he immediately sticks into the pocket of his bag and forgets about. He has the key and looks down at it. "928. That was his room, I guess." Does it bear mentioning that this wasn't his idea? Good thing he loves Tommy. Happy belated birthday, glitterbaby.

And Tommy is _excited_ about this. Not that he expects anything, but staying in a hotel room with Adam is always sort of a dirty little treat. It's not his bed and it's not Adam's bed, it's vaguely anonymous and totally luxe. "I'm still so used to, like, Holiday Inn," he grins, thumbing the elevator button. "Everyone who was _anyone_ stayed here. You nervous? Scared? Creeped out?" He spiders his fingers up Adam's back, under his shirt. "Don't worry, I'll keep you safe."

Aww. That's so ... that's actually really sweet. Adam grins, squiggling a little because Tommy's hands are cold and they tickle. "Not nervous or scared or anything. I'm glad I didn't let you drag me out to that house you found where the killer died. No thanks." This is about right, he figures. He can handle _this_; nice hotel. They can even go swimming! No one, so far as he knows, knows they're here. Not even Lane. It's a _secret_. A secret getaway. Which is romantic, were it not for the whole ghost aspect of it all.

"Oh man, you _know_ that would have been awesome. We could have camped out or something, with sleeping bags and lanterns and all that shit." The elevator doors open and they step on, and Tommy leans against the mirrored wall of the car. "I think next year we should go to the Dolphin in New York. That's the one that the movie 1408 was about? And we could _stay_ in 1408." The grin that's so rarely caught on camera is visible now, cheeky and bright, and Tommy crosses his arms over his chest. "Apparently Mr. Clift is still lurking around, wooooo! Think you'll see him tonight? Or..." Tommy's smile curls at the corners. "Are you just going to be seeing me?"

"Is that a bad thing?" Adam's grin matches Tommy's. "I don't know. I brought my swim suit. I totally want to go swimming if we can do it without it getting weird." And he doesn't mean with ghosts, no. He's got his hands full with living humans who haunt him and seem to know where to find him even when no one is supposed to know. "Tell me why you like horror stuff and ghosts." He's not seen 1408 and he's okay with that.

"I think if we talked to the hotel manager, you could get some private pool time." The door slides open and Adam's got his hands full with Tommy, now, as Tommy tries to get the key out of Adam's hand while trying to _hold_ his hand at the same time. The privacy to be open with each other is.... really nice. Plus, the idea of Adam in a bathing suit is kind of too much to pass up. Remember Cabo? Yeah. Tommy had appreciated seeing Adam freckle under the hot sun. He'd just burned to a crisp, himself. "I like being scared. It's a rush. Plus, with the movies and stuff? It's fake. It's all fake, you know. We're not going to see anything tonight."

"So you don't think we'll see Montgomery Clift tonight?" Adam follows Tommy into the room and lets the heavy wooden door close behind them. "Boo. They say you can see Carole Lombard, too. And someone plays the piano in the lobby. Did you read that?" He sets down his bag and looks around. "The room seems nice, doesn't he?" He asks, going around, touching the rich wood of the desk, the texture of the wall paper, seeing through the doorway the marble bathroom, the thick cream curtains which he pulls aside to look out the window at the manicured courtyard, the wall and the street beyond. "A step up from the Holiday Inn, huh?"

"Nah. People like to imagine things like that because they want to believe that there's some Great Beyond after they die. I like to think of it as never having to be woken up by an alarm clock or a phone ever again." Being woken up by Adam, though, is something Tommy might miss. That's a pretty serious thought! Tommy banishes it away when Adam pushes the drapes open. "Totally a step up." His bag gets dropped on the floor, and with a sigh, Tommy back-splats onto the bed. "Wow, it totally doesn't even squeak."

Turning around, leaving the curtains open, Adam grins when he sees the Tommy-starfish on the bed. "Quality furniture, I take it." He comes over, standing between Tommy's creepered-feet, his own hands on his hips. "Are you hungry? We can order room service. I read that the food here is good, too." See? This is more like it. A getaway from the press, from paparazzi, from responsibility for a while, just Adam and Tommy. Nice.

"No squeaks, no lumps, and I bet there isn't even a dust bunny under the bed." With Adam standing above him like that, it's easy to scissor his legs around Adam's thighs and tug him in. "I bet we get all the movie stations, too. Even though I'm totally tempted to turn off all the lights and just be in the _dark._ So it's super spooky." Tommy snorks a laugh. "Yeah, let's get room service. I'm gonna go for a walk down the hall, okay? Apparently you can hear things in the empty rooms. I think it's just people _thinking_ the rooms are empty. I'm not about to get all Shining and see twins standing at the end of the hall."

"Well, take the camera so if you see anything, you can document it." Adam grins, giving Tommy a kiss on the cheek before he gets back up, fetching his little Nikon digital camera from his overnight bag and handing it over. "Hamburger rare for you? Boca burger for me. Fries for you, salad for me, dressing on the side. Beer for you, water for me." With an eyebrow arch, he asks if he's got it right as he picks up the phone and hits the right button for room service.

Tommy's laughing as he follows Adam, getting off the bed to kiss Adam's neck as he picks up the phone. Adam knows him so well. He grabs the key and leaves the room, suddenly surrounded by that cushioning silence that's in hotel hallways, and it feels like his hearing is pinprick-sharp. He walks to one end of the hall, his footfalls silenced by the carpet underfoot. From behind a door, there's footfalls, laughter, but hey, there's another couple in there, right? It's not as if he and Adam rented out the entire _floor_. And it's a _hotel._ On the way back, he rat-a-tat's his knuckles on room 928 before going in the other direction. The artwork on the walls in the hall is classy and as equally quiet as the floor itself, except one picture's just slightly crooked. Tommy stops and takes a picture of it before straightening it on its hook. Nothing _supernatural._ Just a crooked picture.

While he's doing that, Adam orders their food as well as a small cake, seeing as they're celebrating Tommy's birthday, again. And candles and all that for a little sweet surprise. Then he pulls out the latest _Details_ and flops himself on the bed. Really, it's a horrible magazine; he just gets it because it came free with his article in there and he can check out the ads, wondering vaguely if Tom Ford would cast Adam in his next movie. The idea makes him smile; no nitty-gritty movie for him. Give him a director who knows fashion. If a fashion designer can make a movie, there's no reason Adam can't star in a movie, right? Flip-flip go the pages in the silence of the room.

In the bathroom, there's a thud in the tub, as if something heavy and solid was dropped into it.

"Tommy?" Adam peers over the magazine. But that's ridiculous. Tommy's in the hallway looking for dead twin girls. Or something. Adam waits for a moment. Not hearing anything he shakes it off and goes back to the magazine, turning another page. Those Givenchy boots in the next ad are to die for; is that lizard or snake?

There's another thud and Adam lowers his magazine again, looking toward the dark bathroom with a frown. "Why would you haunt a bathroom," he mutters to himself as he slides his feet to the floor. "How lame is that? All you get to do is see naked people washing and peeing. That has to be less than appetizing at times - hell, all the time." But he's got his phone as he walks toward the bathroom, feet silent on the carpet.

There's no more noise when Adam goes into the bathroom and turns on the light, but that doesn't stop his magazine from slithering onto the floor in the other room, either. The magazine, lying on the floor, is open to those Givenchy boots that are to _die_ for.

At the other end of the other hallway, there's a big, mysterious... plant. So scary. Tommy takes a picture of it for posterity, though. So far, so boring. Maybe Adam's being possessed back in the room! Wouldn't _that_ be interesting! And very horror-movie-esque. Sure, he's going to knock the door and Adam's going to open it in silky red lingerie and ask him if he's the Keymaster. All breathy, of course. Right. But that's what Tommy thinks when he comes back to the room, tapping on the door before getting the key out. He _is_ the Keymaster.

"What?" Still holding his phone, Adam pulls the door open. "I heard something in the bathroom." For good measure, he points at said bathroom. "A thudding. But when I went in there, there wasn't anything, but my magazine was on the floor, here, see?" Which, he now realizes, sounds really _lame_.

That does sound kind of lame. But it could be _something._ But it could also just be the magazine sliding off the bed. Damn glossy pages and all. "It could be the pipes... this _is_ an old building, right? People come here expecting to see ghosts, throw back some wine or whatever, hear some banging around, and automatically think it's something coming for their head." Tommy slips his arms around Adam's waist. "I saw a very scary crooked painting, and a plant that was _ugly._ And like, other people in other rooms. I knew it. You didn't open the fridge and find Gozer or anything, did you?"

"Gozer?" Automatically, Adam loops his arm around Tommy's shoulder. "I have no idea what you're talking about." But now that Tommy's _back_, it seems a little less _freaky_ than it was in here when he was alone for that few minutes. Banging pipes. That was probably it, wasn't it? "Look at these boots," he says, picking up the magazine. "Aren't they awesome?"__

Tommy gives the magazine a cursory glance, then raises an eyebrow. "Because you need to be even taller than me than you already are." He bites the point of Adam's chin and kicks his shoes off toward the door, a good two inches shorter than he'd been a moment before. "See? You're already almost a head higher than me." Wait, did Tommy say 'head'? Hur-hur. "Gozer's from Ghostbusters, haven't you ever seen it? Oh my fuck, if you haven't, we are leaving this room and going to a Blockbusters and renting it. I'm sure they've got a DVD player in this dump."

Behind them, those heavy cream-coloured curtains sway a little bit in the breeze, cooling the room down degree by degree, imperceptible.

"How do you even have a life with all the movies you watch? Honestly. And you mock, but these boots are amazing." There's a whole discussion of the creepers that's been had and would be had again. But Adam tosses the magazine on the bed. "I ordered food. It should be here soon," he says as he sits to take his boots off too. He doesn't mention the cake. It's a _surprise_.

"I watch a lot of movies! You should know, you spend enough time with me. And I mock you a lot, you should know that by now, too." It's Tommy's turn to go and inspect the big scary bathroom, which is definitely big and definitely a bathroom, but not so much with the scary. He turns the taps on, just to test them out. "Oh fuck, Adam! There's something coming out of the faucet! You gotta see this!"

"Shut up, you ass," Adam says, not even humoring him; he can hear the water running. "I'm telling you I _heard_ something and I did. I'm not insane or making shit up, I'll have you know." Honestly. He picks up his boots to take them over by his bag, pulling that over onto the luggage rack by the window. Ha! Tommy doesn't get the luggage rack (it's the little things that make it worthwhile, you know). He unzips his bag to pull out his make-up bag (lube and condoms get tossed onto the nightstand. You know. For later), and he looks up when the curtain brushes his shoulder. That's weird.

Oh come on, that was _funny._ Tommy turns off the water and comes out of the bathroom, eyeing Adam's suitcase. "We're here for a weekend, and you brought that much stuff? I just figured we'd be naked for Hallowe'en. Adam and... Adam? Where's a big fig leaf when you need one?" The luggage rack doesn't matter; Tommy's only got a backpack with clothes and crap stuffed into it, where Adam's clothes are all nice and neat and folded. "Man, it's cold in here, why'd you open the window?" Nothing like the smell of smog and cool autumn air. Blugh. "The food needs to be here _now._ Then we can go swimming, and I can cramp up, and you can give me mouth to mouth."

"I didn't open the window .... " Adam straightens up, pulling aside the heavy curtain to see the window indeed open, only a few inches though. He shuts it and flips the locks. Cleaning staff must have left it open. Anyway. "I love your elaborate plans," he says instead, grinning at Tommy. "Or you could, you know, just ask me to kiss you. That works too. No life-or-death situation necessary." In fact ... he cocks his finger to get Tommy to come closer.

"I'm a human Rube Goldberg machine. I make all of these plans just to get a kiss out of you." Tommy's grinning as he sidles up close, getting up on his toes to reach for Adam's mouth, stopping just short, so Adam can feel Tommy's breath on his lips. "So? Are you going to kiss me?"

"You're such a goof," Adam says with a bright grin. But he does slide his hand around the back of Tommy's neck and kisses him, slow, using his tongue to open Tommy's mouth for a taste. He should probably know who Rube Goldberg is (Jew, he's going to guess - Goldberg), but he can't bring himself to care at the moment.

At that moment, the food arrives, signaled by a knock on the door. "Hold that thought," Adam says and crosses to get that taken care of, signing the bill and taking the cart from the waiter. He lets the door close and wheels it in near the bed. "I got you a little something, too ... "

"Jeez, look at this! Cart and trays and everything." Tommy grins and starts lifting lids, finding Adam's food first - of course, that's how it always works - and then his own. "Aw, this looks awesome." They'll get back to kissing after the food's finished, but Adam's comment makes Tommy hold pause and look up at him. "You already got me this weekend here. You didn't have to get me anything else."

"... you're looking right at it," Adam says after an incredulous pause. And he has to laugh. The cake's nothing fancy, but it is _right there_. "They should've brought candles, too. Let's see." After some rummaging around, he finds the little box of candles and pulls them out. Ten, not twenty-nine. Ah well. Adam holds his hand out to Tommy. "I need your lighter."

Oh. The cake. _Oh._ "Well, shit, you got me a birthday cake." For all that Tommy's words are casual, there's something deeply pleased and honestly surprised. Adam got him a _cake._ "I thought it was just dessert or something." He sets his burger tray down and stops Adam's hands for a second. "Thanks." Because that deserves a kiss that doesn't taste like hamburger. It's sweet and warm and open, a hand in Adam's hair and the other on his arm, until Tommy realizes Adam asked for something else. "Lighter. Here. Wow, thank you."

"You're welcome," Adam says just as sweetly and quietly, with a smile. He pulls so that Tommy ends up on his lap and he flips open the Zippo and gets a flame which he touches to a candle that lights, so he moves on to the next one.

But the first one goes out before he can even light the second one. "Urgh," Adam mumbles, lighting the second one, then going back to the first one.

Except that the second candle goes out too. "I think they sent up defective candles," Adam says, grimacing. So, he tries another candle. Same thing. It lights, and then goes out. Same with the fourth, the fifth and the sixth. Reaching around Tommy, Adam picks up a candle so they can both look at it. "That's really weird."

"I'm not blowing on them, seriously." Tommy even covers his mouth as Adam tries to light them again, but it's the same thing. They flare up and immediately go out. "You shut the window, I saw you do that. Is there a draft anywhere?" Tommy slides off of Adam's lap to check the vents (open, but not blowing), and the window (closed, but unlocked).

"I don't feel a draft. Maybe the candles are just ... old ... or something. I don't know. Boo. I wanted to give you candles." But Adam gives it one more try, and no go. "Sorry, baby. It's kind of a lame birthday cake without candles on it."

"It's _fine._ Maybe if you can get those candles to light later, you can, oooh. Drip wax on me." It's impossible to keep a straight face, and Tommy's laughing as he finds the knife to cut the cake. Oh yeah, they still have _real_ dinner to eat. "It's not a lame cake at all. 'cause you thought to _get_ me a cake." He gets a beer and a water from the fridge and brings them back to where they're sitting on the bed. "Do you wanna go swimming after? I'm serious, I bet if you talked to the hotel manager, we could get it all to ourselves..." Which could mean, potentially, skinny-dipping.

"They have cameras looking at the pool," Adam answers, laughing. "You're so transparent. We can ask, though. There's beer here too, baby." Under the cart in the cooling bucket thing with Adam's water. But Tommy already has them, so. Using the cart as a table, they can start to eat. "I'll call the manager after we eat."

Tommy manages a good offended face. Good, but not great. "I can't believe you'd think that _I'd_ think that- Okay. I was totally thinking it. Shut up." He digs into his burger, which is _insanely_ good, considering it's room service, swirling fries through a lake of ketchup and a pile of salt.

The sound of water dripping out of the tap in the bathroom is _distracting_, though. And there has to be a draft somewhere, because Tommy's _cold._ At least his food is hot. "Are you cold? I'm _freezing._" He sets his half-eaten burger down and cranks the taps shut in the bathroom. Like Chinese water-torture, or something!

"I didn't notice?" But as usual, Adam has _layers_ on, t-shirt under a sweater, under a vest that he really likes, so it doesn't stand out. "The thermostat's on the wall. Crank it up, but not, like, to ninety or something. Don't want a sauna. I'm surprised you get cold in your hoodie." Of course, Tommy has no fat on his body. That might have something to do with it.

Tommy peers at the thermostat and frowns. "It says it's like, 72, which is... normal, right?" But he sets it to 77, so when they come back from swimming, it'll be nice and warm in here. And then they can get naked. The theory is that every seven seconds, a guy thinks about sex. Well, Tommy's living proof of that. He finishes his burger and sops up all that ketchup with his fries and sets his plate on the tray. "Man, imagine if we went to the pool and saw Marilyn Monroe from The Misfits?" Tommy wolf-whistles before digging his shorts out of his bag. Just to get ready, of course. Because there's still cake. Birthday cake! That Adam got for him. Which gets Adam another kiss on the corner of his mouth; it makes Adam smile too as he spears lettuce with his fork.

"Do you have a crush on Marilyn Monroe?" Adam asks, head cocked. "I didn't know this about you. She was gorgeous, wasn't she? God. Did you see those pictures a while back?! Of her totally getting high. They were amazing." That's one thing they can't do here, get high. That would be great. Ah well. Adam licks his fork clean and digs it into the cake - who needs slices?

Not either of them! There's one cut in the cake, like the single hand on a clock, and that gives them a good starting point to get into it. It's sugary as _hell_, but it's alright because it's Tommy's birthday and birthday-calories don't count, okay Adam? "I never saw those! She was _so hot._ She would be my Marilyn Munster, for sure." Tommy gets a fork full of cake and holds it out to Adam, a little smile touching the corners of his mouth. "To..." Wow, he sucks at toasts. "To you. To Adam. Who made my birthday spooky and sugary." Lame.

But adorable. Adam blows Tommy a kiss before he opens for the bite, chewing. "Your Marilyn Munster. What does that mean?" Honestly at times, Adam is sure that he's actually missed the point of half of what Tommy's said. Forking up a bite for Tommy, he waits until his lover takes the bite before reaching for the phone to call the management. Holding the receiver to his ear, he goes to dial but stops half-way. "There's no dial tone." Which means he clicks the disconnect button a few times, then tries again. "Dead."

"Marilyn Munster was Lily Munster's niece, and she looked a little bit like Marilyn Monroe. Pat Priest played her, mostly, but Beverly Owen played her for a while. _Beautiful._" When Adam mentions that the phone is dead, Tommy frowns, stabbing the middle of the cake with his fork so it just stands there like a flagpole. Tommy declares this cake to be _his!_ "Here, I'll just use my cell, what's the number?" Except, when Tommy pulls his cell out, his battery's dead. Huh. He could swear it had been at full charge this morning. Blackberry and their shitty batteries, chrissake.

Adam gets up to get his phone from his jacket pocket and and he's got a battery, but no signal. "Okay, this is getting spooky," he has to admit. Holding the cord to the hotel phone, he traces it to the wall and it's plugged in, but he unplugs it and snaps it back in. "Check it now?"

Tommy scoops up the phone again and frowns. There's nothing but a hiss, shadowy sounds that could have been whispers, in another life. "Dead air. Like, not dead-dead? But like it's an empty line." He nods for Adam to come over to the door. "Let's just go downstairs and tell them that our phone's not working, okay? Then we'll go to the pool while they fix it, and then we can come back up here. Fuck, it's still freezing in here." He wedges his hands into his pockets. "Maybe they can do something about the heat, too."

"Yeah, okay." Putting his phone in his jeans pocket, Adam grabs the room key and puts that in his other pocket, before following Tommy to the door, hand in the small of his back. "Maybe they didn't do a good job with the renovations or something." But when he turns the knob of the door (the knob he'd _just_ used to open the door to let in the room service), it comes off in his hand. "Oh, shit!" he exclaims, holding a doorknob in his hand.

Tommy looks at the knob. Then looks at Adam. Then looks at the knob again. Really? Seriously? "Hang on, stick it back in, it should work, right? Or try using the key to pull the door open?" There's going to be a reason for all of this. Like, a for-real, logical reason. The hotel _is_ old, so maybe that last pull on the knob did it in. But they're in LA, and there's phone service _everywhere_, so that doesn't explain Adam's phone.

"Um. Okay." Bending down, Adam carefully pushes the knob back into the other part of the knob. And he turns it. Which does nothing, clearly it's not connected inside the workings of the door. "Are you _kidding_ me," he murmurs. "Are you serious. We're trapped in this room with no phone."

"Maid service comes in the morning." This is Tommy, not too concerned. "I'm sure we can keep ourselves busy. There's TV and there's the shower, there's this bed that we could jump on, like for Vevo? As long as you don't skull yourself on the ceiling." He scoops up the phone again, just because, and pauses, the colour draining from his face, leaving him almost the colour of chalk. "Here. Listen."

"I'm not going to jump on the bed - " But Adam turns and sees Tommy's face and that pale and automatically reaches out. "Tommy? What is it?!" He asks, his heart suddenly racing. "You're freaking me out!"

The line isn't dead. Not entirely at least: there are faint whispers coming through the phone, as soft, sibilant, transparent as smoke, and the moment the phone touches Adam's ear, there's a solid voice. "Mr. Clift! This is Mr. James, I just wanted to let you know that _The Misfits_ is on television tonight. Would you like to watch it?"

"Hang up," Tommy says abruptly. "Just- just hang it up. There's something wrong with the lines here." Or this is some kind of fucked-up trick. Maybe Adam _did_ talk to the hotel manager earlier, when booking the reservation. Maybe they cooked up something to scare Tommy the Skeptic. Adam's a pretty good actor. "Let's just put on the TV, okay? And finish the cake."

Except that Adam isn't _that_ good an actor and the voice and its intonation, even, is not like someone contemporary to 2010. He can't let go of the phone. He gestures to the TV; Tommy can turn it on and Adam says "yes," to the voice on the phone. _The Misfits_. On the phone, he gets no answer though, though he's listening. Now it just sounds like wind. "Turn it on," he urges Tommy, feeling like he's got a rock in his stomach. "Tommy ...." What if _The Misfits_ comes on TV?!

Well, it'd go with the comments about Marilyn Monroe, earlier, right? Tommy turns on the television, and there she is, right there, black and white and silver, troubled and gorgeous. Marilyn Monroe. When he changes the channel, though, the image doesn't change. It's still Marilyn, and Clark Gable and Mongtomery Clift, over and over, until Tommy turns the TV off entirely. "Okay, this isn't fucking funny now, okay? Now I'm freaked out. You can give up the joke now, okay?" But Adam doesn't look like he's faking anything. He looks as scared as Tommy suddenly feels.

"They asked if Mr. _Clift_ wanted to watch _The Misfits_," Adam whispers. "And you saw it on TV. Tommy, I don't know what's going on." The line is still sounding like wind, so he sets it down. Remembering that their window overlooks the courtyard, he goes over to it, to pull it up, shout out, see if he can catch anyone's attention. He pushes the curtains aside and goes to flip open the locks. Except they won't go. "Are you fucking _kidding_ me?! Come over here and see if you can get this open, okay?!" Adam asks Tommy, voice getting sharp in his alarm.

"They were unlocked when I checked the windows. With the candles?" But Tommy comes over anyway and, with his mouth turned down in a stubborn frown, pushes at the locks. "It was unlocked before. Did you lock the window when you shut it, earlier?" Tommy looks at Adam's reflection in the window, but Adam's not the only one standing there. Behind the both of them, it looks like someone's sitting on the edge of the bed with their back to them. Tommy whirls around. "Camera," he whispers hoarsely. "If this is real, then-" Well, that's why they brought the camera. Just in case. And Tommy hadn't believed. But when he turns it on, he gets the message that the card is full. "Adam? _Adam?_" Stills of famous people, ones he's seen and plenty he hasn't, as if the camera had belonged to someone else in another life. "What's happening?"

"I don't _know_." Adam had locked the windows, then they'd been unlocked, now they're locked and won't budge. And Tommy's panic isn't helping the rock in his stomach either. "What?" Adam asks, when he turns. "Tommy, you're seriously freaking me o - "

Then Adam _sees_ the shadow of the person on the bed and his mouth falls open but he doesn't say a word. He can't think of anything to _say_. He can't even think to make any noise at all.

The camera's dropped, cushioned by the thick carpet under their feet, and Tommy's hand touches Adam's ass, first one pocket, then the other, looking for his iPhone. "You see it, right? You see that there?" The phone comes out and the battery still works, thank god, and Tommy takes a picture, then another. "Nothing's showing up. You're seeing this too, right?" But when Tommy looks from the iPhone's screen to the bed again, it's true. There's nothing to take a picture of. "Did it disappear? Were you watching?"

"I - "

In one of those rare moments, Adam is speechless. "I ... I mean, I saw _something_. I swear I did, but I don't .... " He shrugs his shoulders almost helplessly. "I have no idea what's going on." He's got goosebumps all up and down his arms and he is _freezing_. "I have no idea."

"Someone put electric kool aid in the cake," says Tommy, and utters a shaky, high laugh. "But it's not a hallucination if we both see it." He wraps his arms around Adam's waist, trying to warm the both of them when the room feels like one of those walk-in freezers that they have at McDonald's. Maybe Starbucks had them too, he'll have to ask Adam later. "Did you read anything about the hauntings here being, like... bad?" He's picturing Poltergeist and the Exorcist, the Exorcism of Emily Rose, all kinds of bad, weird shit.

"No. It's like ... _playful_. Ha-ha," Adam answers lamely. "This isn't funny. It might be funny, if we could get _out_." Okay. That breaks his paralysis and he goes over to the door again and tries the broken knob to no avail. Then he starts to pound on the wood of the door, his fist sounding thick, the pounding sounding hollow. "We're locked in!" He shouts to whoever might be in the hall. "Come on!"

And just like that, the door opens, and there's a confused-looking, frazzled-haired maid on the other side. "Is there a problem, sir?"

"Oh, am I glad to see _you_." Adam folds the maid into a hug. Until the door starts to shut. Then that is is first priority. Being able to get _out_. He stops it with his foot, then his body. "Okay, the door? Broken. The phone doesn't work. The thermostat is wonky and I would rather not be trapped again, okay? Fantastic. We're _really_ glad you're here."

Tommy can only blink dumbly. Really? It's that easy?

The maid, on the other hand, looks a little stunned to be hugged by a six-foot man wearing eyeliner, who's glad to see her for no reason at all. Not even a chocolate mint on the pillow? "Let me call maintenance for you. We have some tricky things happen around here from time to time. Usually the guests get locked _out_ of their rooms!" She peers around Adam at Tommy. "Why don't you two go down to the dining room and I'll call the manager - Mr. Flug - and have him look after it."

"That sounds great," Tommy answers, all but pushing past Adam to get out of the room. It's weird in there. Cold and kind of nervy, like they're being watched. God, he thought he'd be used to it by now. But it's a _different_ kind of watching. "Let's go downstairs, huh? Or, like. Hold the door open and I'll grab our stuff and we'll go to the pool, okay?" The colour's coming back into his face and the hallway feels _warm._

"Mr. Flug?" They've heard a lot of weird things, but for some reason, the name _Flug_ is what makes Adam laugh from the safety of the warm, empty hallway. He laughs and laughs. And laughs some more. They were trapped, they saw a _ghost_ and he's laughing nearly hysterically over someone named _Flug_. But he leans against the door, holding it for Tommy. Yes, out. Pool. Away from this room. Great plan.

Trunks are grabbed and the maid informs them that there are towels at the pool already, and Tommy fits his hand firmly into Adam's, fingers icy. "Mr. Flug. Butt-flug." Whispered against Adam's shoulder, feeling the ease in leaving the room almost immediately. "I'm going to fug you with a flug." By the time the door's shut behind them, he's snickering, and the crooked picture is still crooked when they pass it, and Tommy points it out. "And the evil plant is in the other hallway." See? Now that they're not in the room, it's okay. They're fine.

And Adam's stomach _aches_ from the laughter and his head spins with something like relief. "Oh, God," he wheezes. "I don't even know." Did he even grab his phone? He looks back down the hall toward the room and the maid and tells himself, mentally, to _screw it_. His arm is around Tommy's shoulders and they can worry about that later.

At the desk, he rattles off all the issues and decides a little diva isn't out of line, which results in assurances that their stay is free and that of course they can close the pool area for two hours, of course, Mr. Lambert, we're so sorry.

Twenty minutes later, when Adam is up to his chin in the bubbling, enveloping warmth of the hot tub, he's wondering what he was so worried about. He leans his head back, eyes closed and hums. "This is more like it."

"Mmhm," Tommy agrees, crossing the hot tub so he's half-floating, half-sitting across Adam's lap. "Is it weird that watching you get bitchy is kind of hot?" He rubs the tip of his nose against Adam's jaw, leaning in to brush their mouths together. They've got the privacy after all. At least, _some_ privacy. They're not going to get naked in here or anything. That's for when they get upstairs. "Bet there'll be like, champagne up there now..."

"There better be," Adam laughs, head bobbing side to side playfully, before he chuckles, hands sliding along Tommy's back, fingers tracing his spine. "Why am I not surprised that turns you on. You're so _easy_." But he angles for another kiss before slipping his hands down and around, under Tommy's hips. In the water, Adam's lover is weightless and, smiling, he pushes so that Tommy's floating on the surface. "Maybe we imagined all that. Collective hallucination."

"I _am_ easy. Shut up." Tommy only lets himself float for a minute before he pushes his weight below the water and wraps his arms around Adam's waist. It's not like they're _dating_, at least not openly, but just seem to have gravitated together, finding the sex easy and _good_ and the ability to make each other _laugh_ just as easy (but not as good, of course).

"... That was pretty weird, wasn't it?" What happened upstairs, he means. Not Tommy being turned on.

"I'm betting they do shit like that when they get marks like us in there, okay, well, I'm a mark. So I bet they rigged a bunch of crap to-" But Tommy's words cut off.

There's _no_ good reason that an upscale hotel would prank its clients. Not one reason at all. What would it prove? That they can scare business off? That makes a _lot_ of sense, kind of like Lady GaGa's fashion. That sort of sense.

"Either way, I hope it's all fixed when we get back," Tommy says. It's sort of funny: since Tommy and Adam have started doing whatever it is that they're doing, Tommy's sort of lost interest in being with anyone else, at least in the naked way. Sure, every picture of Tommy kissing a girl is analyzed to the last drop, and the whole thing with Delmy was blown _way_ out of proportion, but, well. Tommy likes Adam. And will leave it at that. He likes him a lot.

Enough serious thought! "Do you _like_ when I'm turned on?"

"No," Adam tells him, deadpan. "I hate it. It's such a bother. 'Oh, look, Tommy's horny again, blah.' What are you even talking about? Get your ass over here, you." And yes, there are cameras and Adam's sure they're still on, but fuck it. He gets Tommy back in his lap and cups his ass. "You're the only one I'd come to a haunted hotel for, I'll have you know. I'm serious. Because this has all been super-bizarre. It better be all fixed. Or I'll go even more diva on their asses." And Tommy's ass, squeeze!

"You _love_ it," Tommy teases back. "And you always seem to know when, too. Because you pull my hair or like, heavy-pet my bass. And it makes me kinda hope that the wood you sport onstage is because of me and not, you know, _entirely_ from performing." He hooks his arms around Adam's neck, forearms resting lightly on his shoulders, and leans down to kiss him. He has to remind himself that this isn't _Adam's_ hot tub, and this is about as close to fooling around as they can get, here. "I've had my fill of bizarre already."

"You want to claim my hard-on?" Adam had to laugh. "I guess that's okay." Under the swirling water and bubbles his thumbs trace circles lower down Tommy's stomach to dip under the waistband of his swim trunks. "If it's yours, what exactly do you plan on doing with it?" He asks, head back, eyes blue through the dark brush of his lashes.

Tommy pretends to think for a moment, an eyebrow raised, mouth pulled into a sideways little moue. "I was thinking I might see how it tastes, first. _Then._" Tommy's wet fingers stick to his hair as he pushes it back behind his ear. "Once I've got _you_ all stupid-headed, then we can, you know. Fuck. Slow. I think I want to be on top." Adam's touch makes Tommy's blood feel hotter than the water, and even the heated bubbles can't prevent Tommy from getting hard. Yeah, he's easy. "I guess you could say I'm going to claim it."

"Mmm, I like how you think," Adam tells him, and his voice comes out all low and throaty, his eyes heavy-lidded. "Though I feel compelled to say that I never get 'stupid-headed.'" Holding Tommy's hip with one hand, Adam slides his other between his legs and rubs at the hard-on he knew he'd find there with his knuckles. "You're sexy." All ghosts and weirdness is fading quickly from his mind.

"Bet I can make you that way," Tommy grins, looking entirely too self-confident for his own good. "It's a goal. A _mission._" He even hums the theme to _Mission Impossible_ as he leans in to kiss Adam again, licking against the seam of his lips. _Happy birthday to me_, Tommy thinks, over and over. _Happy, happy birthday._ Slow, through the water, his hips move against Adam's touch.

"So easy." Smiling, Adam opens to him, letting Tommy taste as he turns his hand to cup his lover's erection, stroking it through the stiff material. "I'll let you try. See if you can do it." His eyebrow arches though; is Tommy man enough to unman Adam? They shall _see_.

"So, instead of jerking me off in a hot tub, I think we should go see if the room's ready. Cool?" Tommy sucks Adam's lower lip between his teeth, a hand on the back of Adam's neck and the other braced against his jaw. "Or we can stay here and make out for the cameras and security to see." He pulls back, swiping the pad of his thumb over Adam's mouth, leaving the offer wide open. He's up to the challenge of unmanning Adam.

"Let's go." Adam pushes Tommy from his knees, takes a moment to kind of adjust his shorts as best he can, and then he stands, wading through the hot, bubbling water to the steps out where he can get a towel from the piles by the wall to wrap one around his waist and one for his shoulders.

The room is indeed ready and when they open it up (albeit somewhat slowly and cautiously), Adam looks around. Sure enough, champagne, glasses and "oooh! Chocolate covered strawberries, all is forgiven," he says, making a beeline over. "I love these, oh my God." Still wet, wrapped in towels, he picks one up to eat it.

Tommy makes a halting noise, something like "Hoi!" that doesn't really translate well into anything except what it is, and puts the kibosh on Adam getting onto those strawberries. "My birthday. I go first." He tests the knob once the door's shut behind them, and everything seems to be okay, and then holds up a big fat strawberry with cold milk chocolate on it. "Lie down, Glambert. This is my party, now."

Caught between laughing his ass off at the movie-calibre dialogue, and being turned on by Tommy's show of force, Adam goes with option B. He shrugs of the towel around his shoulders and he shimmies out of the one around his waist. Giving Tommy a look, he bends at the waist to get out of his wet suit, too. Then Adam saunters over to the bed, pulls back the covers and climbs on, rolling to his back, fingers laced behind his head.

Oh yeah, Adam knows how to make it look good, too. Damn. Tommy brings over the champagne and glasses and the tray of strawberries, ditching his towel and shorts as casual as can be before climbing over Adam's hips, strawberry in hand. He takes a bite and lets the chocolate melt in his mouth before chewing and swallowing, and then Tommy leans down to press a strawberry-flavoured kiss to Adam's lips. When Tommy straightens, the rest of the strawberry is finished off, the stem flicked toward the tray, and a new one is picked up and hovered just above Adam's lips.

Mmm. Adam grins again, eyes dilating just some as he leans up to catch the fruit in his teeth. The goal is to pluck it off the stem, and it _mostly_ works. And it's _sweet_ too. Yum. He chews, swallows and licks at his lips, eyes never leaving Tommy's face. His lover can feel how Adam's body is responding to having Tommy over him, too. Hi there.

As Tommy feeds Adam strawberries, he moves his hips back and forth in a slow rock, too smooth and with not enough pressure to be a grind, but it's so much of a tease, anyway. Then there's the champagne, popped open and a mouthful or two drank straight from the bottle before Tommy's moving down Adam's body to close his lips around Adam's cock. One long suck, then another, then another mouthful of champagne, letting the bubbles fizz against Adam's skin and Tommy's tongue.

"Oh, my _God_," Adam exclaims somewhere between a chortle and a shout. "Oh, _shit_." The fizzy around the ... it's .... _whooo_. Adam gets one hand in Tommy's hair, and the other fists in the covers as he digs his heels in and pushes up. "Yeah." He shivers - a reaction to the cold of the champagne only, this time; the room temperature seems to be fixed as well. Warm, but not too warm.

The answer that Adam gets comes in a low laugh, since Tommy's got a mouth full of champagne-flavoured cock, and he swallows when his mouth is around the head of Adam's cock, then again when Adam's as far down as Tommy can take him. He takes his time, measuring the length and weight of Adam's cock on his tongue, feeling the texture of his skin against Tommy's tastebuds, his fingers skimming through the scratch of hair that's strawberry blonde. _Firecrotch_, Tommy thinks, and snorks out a laugh.

"Am I amusing you?" Breathless, Adam can barely open his eyes when he asks the question. "God." His head falling back, he pushes his hips up again. "Suck my cock." This is not, it should be noted, stupid-headedness. This is _lust_, pure and simple.

Oh, but lust can be pushed into stupid-headedness. Into pure animal _need_, and when Adam gets there, Tommy's job is officially done, and he'll hand the lube to Adam with a sickle-sharp grin. "Mhm," Tommy answers though, because he _is_ amused, and is really, _really_ into how Adam sounds. A little more champagne, a lot more tongue, and Tommy relaxes his jaw to let Adam push him just that little bit further.

"Oh, shit, baby," Adam hisses, both hands on Tommy's head to keep him _right_ there so he can push up, taking that fizzy heat, his own head falling back, eyes closing. "Yeah. Oh, fuck yeah. That's right. Your fucking _mouth_ is so _good_." Yeah, this is what Adam suspected when he got to know Tommy. That underlying, easily masked _sex-ass_ that makes Adam _want_.

And Adam was right on the money. Tommy _loves_ sex, and yeah, Adam caught onto that right away. That's why Tommy loves him.

Uh. Tommy thinks about what he just thought - thinking within thinking, what a concept - and bobs up and down on Adam's cock. He loves Adam?

Yeah, okay, he's going to go with it, but not actually _say_ it. Because, remember, mouth full. And the idea's pretty intense to think about. The push of Adam's hips reaches a point where Tommy makes a coughing sound through his nose, shoulders curled up and eyes squeezed tight; Adam's right up against Tommy's gag reflex, but he knows he can do this, can _take_ it, and blindly, he reaches down to tickle his fingertips against Adam's balls, then press on the hard cord behind them.

"Ngggggh." It occurs to Adam to pull back, of course, but a beat too late and he pants out a soft laugh. Okay. Stupid-headedness achieved. Just don't tell anyone. It'll be their secret. Adam slumps back to the bed, red, hard, cock slipping free of Tommy's mouth, hands out of Tommy's hair. "Fuck."

Ah, but Tommy keeps going, but instead of sucking on Adam's cock, he licks up and down the length, eyes darting back and forth between nearly-closed lashes for where the lube might be, and tips his chin at it when he straightens to kneel between Adam's thighs, his own cock stiff and tight against his hip. "Ready? My turn." Hoarse and soft and grinned.

"Your - God. Your turn."

They'd left the lube right out for everyone who'd come and gone to see. Whoops. It looks like a polite someone put it in the nightstand drawer. At least that's what Adam hopes. "You want me to suck your cock, baby?" Adam asks, reaching for Tommy's hip to urge him higher on his chest so he can use Adam's mouth.

"Nope." Tommy takes the lube from Adam, popping it open to spread it across Adam's fingers. "I was gonna ride you, remember? Or... did I make you stupid?" His grin reappears as he guides Adam's hand around his cock first, circling his fingers in a slick, slow slide that makes Tommy sigh. The fact that an hour ago, they'd been scared stiff - no pun intended - is completely forgotten. Then, the room had been cold. Now Tommy feels _hot_, and Adam even hotter, under him.

"Oh, fuck. Just quit saying 'stupid.' It's ... stupid." Adam squeezes as he strokes, keeping his eyes open now so that he can _see_. "Show me how you open yourself up for me. Show me how much you want my cock." He flexes up, the hard curve of his erection nudging right under Tommy's balls.

"Stupid, stupid, _stupid._" Tommy pulls a quick suck of air, his own cock twitching in Adam's fingers. Okay, has he mentioned that he likes being teased? Just a little? Being made to wait and being made to _ache_? Lube is spread on his own fingers, and Tommy leans forward on his knees and one of his hands, the other reaching back to push into himself. Adam might not be able to see what he's doing with his fingers, but he can see the expression on Tommy's face, lax, concentration turned inward on how it feels. "Like this?" he whispers through lips that feel a little bit numb.

"_Yes_." God, Tommy is so _hot_ like this. Adam can vividly remember the first time they fucked. How he took _ages_ to open Tommy up, wanting to hear him _whimper_ and riding him slow and with every inch of his cock until they'd both felt like they were about to come out of their _skin_. That was when Adam learned that he's _hooked_ on the sounds Tommy makes. He gets himself up on one elbow to kiss that swollen mouth.

Adam _gets_ those whimpers, blurred onto the plush line of Adam's lips between licks of tongue and tugs of teeth, and Tommy fingers himself while reaching behind, then brings his hand forward so his wrist is against Adam's, curling his fingers in that way, too. One makes way for two, for three, and then Tommy's pulling his hand back, wiping lube on his hip before ripping a condom open with trembling fingers. "Fuckin' hot for you," he breathes, getting the latex out and rolling it down on Adam's cock. "Pull me down on you."

"Fuck." Adam grips Tommy's hips almost tight enough to be white-knuckled. And watching how Tommy's taking his cock, Adam _pulls_, teeth clenched as he starts to feel that heat giving but just barely around him as he pushes up, heels digging into the bed. "Oh, fuck." He flexes his hips and pushes _up_, deeper. "Yes."

Tommy straightens, eyes rolling back as his eyelashes flutter, using his weight to push back on Adam, too. "Oh fuck," he echoes in a sigh, one hand around his cock and the other resting back on Adam's thigh until Adam's _all_ the way in him, deep and hot, and then he starts to move. Shivers run up and down his back, as if Adam's drawing his fingers up and down Tommy's skin, and his shoulders roll back, nipples pricked up hard with the rings that go through them.

Those rings draws Adam's attention. He looses one hand from around Tommy's hip and pinches one ring between his fingers and tugs in time with the movement of Tommy's hips, watching the skin give more than it should, it seems like. "Yeah," he urges. "Yeah." Back up onto his elbow to get closer, Adam gazes up at his lover with dilated eyes. "You're gorgeous," he whispers.

Oh, there's a good way to make Tommy make sound: when Adam pulls on the ring, Tommy's voice comes out breathy and high in his register, his hand squeezing his cock, and the timing all matches. The up and down of Tommy's hips, the tug of Adam's fingers, the hot, tight stroke of fingers over skin. Adam says _he's_ gorgeous? It still stuns Tommy to his core that Adam might still have self-image issues, when he's able to pull of wearing _anything_, any amount of makeup, feathers, glitter and spikes; how his eyes are so blue compared to how black his hair is; how he moves with a feral combination of grace and sexuality, even if he doesn't mean to. _Adam_ is gorgeous. Tommy tries to keep up. He rocks forward, bracing his weight on one hand again, the other still jerking himself off as his thrusts get harder, faster, sharp enough that they can both hear the impact of skin against skin.

"Oh, my fucking _God_," Adam groans. He drops his hands to Tommy's knees, holding on tight, his eyes closing before he forces them open, dilated and hot on Tommy's face. "Oh, fuck me, fuck _me_." Tommy does, straightening again, head thrown back and mouth open.

But when Adam blinks, there's _someone standing over Tommy's shoulder_.

Adam _screams_, heels digging into the bed again, but this time, he holds to Tommy's hips as he scrambles to get them _away_ from the person at the end of the bed.

Tommy moves in a blurry flash, scared shit out of his mind more by the fact that Adam screamed than for any reason that would cause him to make that sound. "What! What the fuck!" He twists, kneeling by Adam's shoulder, looking around the room like they're about to get decimated by Leatherface, or something. "What happened? Adam, Jesus Christ!"

"_There was someone at the end of the bed!_" Adam even points, not even thinking about being _naked_ because _there was someone at the end of the bed_. That is _Not Cool_.

There isn't now. Adam's practically dizzy with fear and adrenaline and he can't quite catch his breath. "There was someone at the end of the bed. Over your shoulder. I saw him. He was ... he was ... _right there_." He points and he's still got one arm around Tommy and keeping him close.

"Don't scream," Tommy begs. It's right up there with like, hearing a dog get hit by a car, it's that disturbing and wrenching and awful. "I'll- Christ, where are my pants. I'm- I'm gonna call the front desk and get another room, okay?" His pants are in the bag from going down to the hot tub, and Adam's fear has done a pretty good job at making sure Tommy can get his zipper up with no problems. Then he scoops up the phone to hit the extension for the front desk. And... nothing. "Phone's still not working. Maybe they haven't gotten to it yet. Let's just- let's grab our stuff and go down."

It's when Adam clambers off the bed that he still has that damned condom on and he shoves it off, tossing it at the trash can as he gets dressed as fast as he can. He stuffs everything he can think to grab into his bag, not caring about wrinkles or even about residual stickiness. They are getting the fuck _out_ of this fucking room! And when he turns back, his bag is just barely even zipped.

And there's the man again. Standing right next to the bed still. "Oh, _Jesus Christ_, who the fuck is that?!" he shouts, pointing again. Can Tommy _see_ him?!

The man moves toward Adam, through the bed that separates them, then through Adam himself, not reappearing on the other side. Tommy watches this with something like abject horror, eyes wide and face pale and stunned, and he reaches out to touch Adam's hand. "Hey? Are you- are you still you?" Then he reaches for the doorknob, and well, look at that. It comes off in _his_ hand, this time. "Adam. Please tell me you're okay 'cause I think we're stuck again."

What he sees is Adam hold his hands up, turning them over in front of himself as if inspecting them. Then he concentrates on the chipped polish on his right hand. "Remarkable," he says, quietly, his voice having an entirely tenor than how Adam usually talks. When he looks up, his smile is also different, more tentative. Gentler. "We could not have done this in my time. Well," he chuckles. "Some would, the Janes, you know."

"Adam," Tommy warns. "You're freaking me out. Okay? This isn't a joke." Oh god, oh god, Adam can't be possessed. Or like, having that _thing_ wearing Adam like a suit. It's just- yeah, okay, this room is _weird_ and it's _haunted,_ alright? Tommy gets that. But Adam can't be possessed. "If... if you're _not_ Adam," because, please god, let it be Adam, okay? Just that one little favour? Let it be Adam, "then who are you?"

"I didn't think it would work," he's told and Adam's shoulders move in a shrug. "He is ... He would not have been happy when I was alive. This one." He pats at his chest. "To be so free is a blessing, I have to think. I admire him. My friends," he says to more directly answer Tommy's question, "call me Monty."

"Montgomery Clift," Tommy whispers, and backs up a step, then another, and then trips over Adam's suitcase and lands on his ass. "Please, seriously. Don't do that, okay? Just let Adam be Adam and let us leave the room, okay? I have a buddy named Monte too, and if you don't let Adam, you know. If you don't give him his body back, then _my_ friend Monte's going to worry." It's so unreal that Tommy can't even wrap his head around it, feeling the air chill around him. "Please?"

The sadness that crosses Adam's face is nearly heartbreaking. "Here." His gait awkward, he crosses over and extends a hand. "He's not being hurt. I just ... thought for a moment .... "

"This isn't real," Tommy answers, but he takes Adam's hand anyway, letting himself be helped to his feet. "We were just having fun. If you're... if you're not bad or anything... can you tell me if there _is_ anything we have to look out for? I just want Adam back. We're going to leave, alright? So you can do whatever you want. When we're gone, I mean." Adam still _looks_ like Adam, but his speech is all off, body language wrong, and that freaks Tommy out to the point of begging.

"Look out for?" Adam's head falls to the side, brows frowning together. "I'm ... not sure what you mean. Please don't be upset. I'm - I don't want to hurt anyone. I just wanted to _feel_. It's so quiet there. So cold. Do you understand how that is? To not be able to _touch_. For so long. It's nearly unbearable." And with that, one of Adam's fingers grazes Tommy's cheek, and he gasps.

Tommy tenses, closing his eyes, his question forgotten when Adam/Monty touches him. He talks about cold, but his fingers are like _ice_, and they freeze Tommy in his tracks. "Does Adam know you're there?" he whispers, fear sitting transparent on his face. He can't look into those eyes and not see Adam himself, can't look and see a stranger looking back at him. "Can he hear me?"

"I don't know." With that Adam turns away, walking in that awkward gait over to the window to push the curtains aside and open the window. "You care about him. The look on your face ... your voice. That tells me you care about him. And ... he cares about you," Montgomery says in that quiet tone that seems to make most things a question. "You two are ... together? Do people know?" He doesn't turn around.

"I think people _think_ it. But it's not like we're out there going, um." Oh god, is Tommy actually having a conversation with this _thing_ that's Adam? _Mongtomery Clift_, his brain whispers, and god, if Tommy could smack it around, he would. He doesn't need to think that his lover is possessed by a movie star from the 1950's. "It's not like we're telling people about it or anything. I'm cold. It's cold in here." He rubs trembling fingers over his mouth, watching the line of Adam's back. "Maybe I love him. I really care about him and this is scaring the shit out of me."

"I'm sorry. Truly."

And when Adam turns, it seems almost as if he jolts and staggers and catches himself on the small table. "Oh... shit." Getting his balance, Adam stands up, turning to Tommy, goosebumps running up the length of his arms. "I - wow, I feel really strange."

Tommy stares at him, shivering. "We gotta get out of here. Somehow. Now. Okay? 'cause... 'cause something just happened and it was really weird and I don't wanna see it happen again and I'm really fucking sorry I made fun and like, didn't believe in any of that shit, alright? Do you-" His relief is so great that his knees give out, and Tommy sits on the floor, looking up at Adam. "Do you know what just happened?"

"Tommy, what the fuck." When Tommy goes down, Adam rushes over, falling to his knees. "What in the fuck? I thought we were leaving - Was the door broken again? I wasn't - I mean, I wasn't going to do something like go out of the window, right? I ... " He shakes his head a little bit. "I kind of feel like I blacked out."

Yeah, the door's still broken, and the knob is sitting on the floor, round and shiny, winking in the light from the lamps. "You were saying that your friends called you Monty. And-" Tommy's attention snaps to the door as he hears little footsteps run by, and the sound of a child's voice, raised. "When that thing came from the bed, it went through you. Or into you. Or something. And you were talking funny and walking weird and you were _so cold._ You touched me."

"... what?" Adam falls back ungracefully to his ass. "What. Are you saying that I - No. That's insane. Tommy, that's not even funny. This whole thing is a mess and I'd rather just go home. Okay?"

"I'm not trying to be funny. I'm totally fucking serious. You were saying that it was cold where you were. Lonely, or- or something like that. It was just..." Tommy's legs stop feeling like spaghetti long enough for him to get to his feet and hold a hand out to Adam to help him up, too. "The door's still broken. The phone's out. I'm not kidding." The fireplace in the opposite wall flares on, making Tommy jump. It's as if the room is asking them to stay, to warm themselves, to make themselves comfortable again.

"Jesus," Adam blurts out, seeing the fire come to life. "I ... Come on." He gets to his feet again and he pulls Tommy up and he goes over to the door to pound on it again. How stupid were they to come right back to the same room?! Idiots. He keeps Tommy tucked to his side and pounds with one fist. "Let us OUT!" He shouts. Because Adam _cannot_ deal with the idea that he was _possessed_. He refuses. That's insane. _Insane_.

Except that much as he pounds, no one seems to be coming. The sounds his fist makes against the door seem hollow again, almost like they're in a windtunnel, his fist against the door dull and dead sounding.

Instead, a heavy, cream-coloured vellum envelope is slipped under the door, addressed to "Our Esteemed Guests of 928" and sealed with a blot of red wax on the back. Tommy looks down at it, then up at Adam, then bends to pick it up. Why would an envelope come under the door instead of the person who delivered it simply opening the door to answer Adam's yelling? He feels fear in every inch of his body right now: the hair on the back of his neck feels raised, skin bumped up in tingly gooseflesh, even his balls are drawn up to his body. God, they'd been in _bed_ when this had happened, and why can't they just have _that?_ Cake and sex and just being together, with a benign bump in the night to give them both a scare. Why is it this _thing?_

He runs his thumb under the seal and breaks it away from the paper, and inside is an elaborate invitation to the ball at the Blossom Room, beginning at nine. Tommy hands the invitation over to Adam without a word.

Watching Tommy's face, Adam takes the piece of paper and turns them to read it under his breath. _You are cordially invited ... _ "Is this a joke?" He asks Tommy. "What kind of joke is this? We can't even fucking get out and they want us to - Formal wear, are they fucking _kidding_?!" Balling the invitation up, Adam pounds on the door one more time with frustration.

But it's then that he realizes (while he hasn't watched all the horror movies Tommy has, he's seen some thrillers). "Wait." Uncrumpling the invitation, he gestures to the desk. "See where the Blossom Room is on the hotel map." What is it that he remembers about the Blossom Room? He's sure he's read _something_.

Tommy goes through the desk and comes up with the map of the hotel, where the restaurant is, the bar, the event rooms, and _there_ it is, the Blossom Room, and he points it out to Adam. "What about it?" The clock above the desk chimes eight, and the water in the shower turns on. Tommy winces at both sounds, knowing that they're hints of some sort. "I don't know how much of a choice we're gonna have with this, you know."

"Shit." Adam scowls in the direction of the bathroom. He's tired of being scared, Goddamnit. "Wait, the Blossom Room." What had he read? It feels like it's on the tip of his tongue or something.

"Oh, shit, that's right," he whispers, when he realizes it. "That's where the first Academy Awards was held." Of course. "Why us, though?" He asks. Is it just because they booked this room? Which just makes them idiots, nothing more than that. It certainly doesn't give some supernatural being any reason to think that Adam and Tommy have some kind of _ability_ or sensitivity or anything. "We don't have any formalwear. And it's not like they can let us out - " Whoever _they_ are. "- and we won't make a run for it."

Except that he's already apparently been possessed. Trying for the joke, wincing even as he says it for how flat it sounds, Adam says to Tommy, "Maybe you'll get to see Marilyn Monroe after all."

"Weak," Tommy announces, going into the bathroom to shut the water off. It's not cooperating. "I just want to go home, get laid and go to sleep with you. We were in the _middle_ of getting laid! Unfair. It's Hallowe'en, we're in a haunted fucking hotel that's _really_ haunted, going to some fucking formal thing that could be full of _dead people._"

At least being pissed off is better than being scared. "And the _shower won't turn off!_ Fuck Marilyn Monroe! I'd rather fuck _you!_"

"This was your idea," Adam mutters under his breath, just so he can say he said it and then he follows Tommy and hugs him from behind. "I have no idea what's going on," he says into Tommy's ear. "Or why it's happening. But we'll get through this. Okay? And we'll fuck and sleep and just ... not speak of this again. Okay?"

"_Ever,_" Tommy agrees, twisting around in Adam's hold. And it's as if he heard that little mutter, because Tommy looks up at Adam and apologizes. "I just... didn't actually think anything would happen. You _hear_ about stuff like this, but it never happens for real, you know?" The bathroom is starting to steam up, and Tommy quirks an upside-down smile at Adam. "Guess we should start getting ready, huh?"

"This is the most insane thing I've ever done. And I've done my share of insane things." For a split-second, Adam wonders if this is the Burning Man acid come back to haunt him, but that doesn't really warrant much thought. At least the shower works and it's warm and he does kind of have the need to wash his cock, having stopped ... you know.

With a sigh and shrug, he starts to undress again to shower. To get ready to go to a ball with a bunch of dead people.

Why are they going through with this?

Oh, right. Because they don't have a _choice_. This whole situation is _insane_.

Tommy watches Adam undress with a hunger that's vastly out of place with everything else that's been happening, and then he pulls his t-shirt over his head and kicks his jeans off, following Adam in. Hell, there's plenty of room for the both of them. And Tommy doesn't want to admit that he doesn't want to be alone, either. "I like being naked with you," he starts, matter-of-fact. "The you that wasn't you? Asked me how I felt about you-you. Which was weird."

"I don't even know what that means," Adam says, not unkindly. "Are you _sure_ it wasn't ... I mean ... " He reaches for the soap, trying to keep his hair dry - how does one do one's hair for a Ghost's Ball? - "Are you sure? I mean, sure, I kind of blacked out, but ... are you _sure_? I mean ... what did you say?"

Well. Uh. Those are the first two words out of Tommy's mouth. "Well. Uh." A frown crosses his face and he picks up the shampoo. _He's_ going to wash his hair, because he's fairly certain it's sticking up at all angles from shock after shock. "I told the you that wasn't you that- I told you how I felt." They've never been anything _official_, and to admit to Adam that what he feels goes somewhere _well_ beyond the realm of casual in a situation like this just seems crazy. So he lathers his hair up, instead.

Adam watches for about twenty seconds as he weighs the pros and cons of pursuing this conversation - what Tommy said, how he feels. Adam knows how _he_ feels. Now's not the time; there are a few less pleasant, more creepy things to worry about before they talk about _feelings_. He does give Tommy a wet kiss, though, before concentrating on getting clean and getting through whatever it seems destined they get through.

With all of that, he's not surprised when he steps out of the shower and sees two garment bags embossed with the name _Hepwoods_ across the front, hanging on the hook on the bathroom door. When he's dried himself and wrapped the towel around his waist, he walks over and takes a deep breath before unzipping one, opening it to see the gleam of the tuxedo jacket over a white shirt. The tie is looped over the hanger as well. A real tie, no clip on. The jacket is substantial, well-made. "I bet it'll fit, too," Adam whispers under his breath as he takes a step back. So creepy. He's got to get his make up/toiletry bag from the main room and that's where he finds their shoes, patent-leather, shined, sitting by the bed with socks stuffed in them. He gets his bag and a pair of underwear and hurries back into the bathroom. Safety in numbers, or something. Or at least there, Adam can _see_ Tommy, _see_ his lover who is real flesh.

Tommy's not long getting out of the shower after Adam, and he stands on the mat with a towel around his hips, blowdrying his hair. He sees the garment bag that's on the back of the door and makes a face like _are you serious?_ before grabbing the one that's apparently for him. The bathroom is plenty big enough for both of them to get ready, except Tommy fails miserably at tying a real bow tie. So he leaves it hanging around his neck while he grabs underwear and his shoes and socks (yes, wearing a shirt, a loose tie and a towel), and lifts his chin at Adam. "Gimme a hand?"

"I have to fix your hair," Adam tells him, only in his underwear as he was doing his face first, nothing too dramatic. It just seems fitting; it is a formal event, after all. But he takes Tommy's tie and moves around behind him to do it. "My dad taught me how to do this," he says out of nowhere. But when he steps back, Tommy's tie is tied. "Don't move, though." Fetching the hair wax from his bag, he slicks some between his fingers and combs Tommy's hair back from his face and behind his ear. "There," he says when he steps back, before leaning in for a quick kiss and going back to getting ready. Just like any other event, right? Sure.

Once he's in his shorts and his pants are pulled on, Tommy fiddles with the three stupid fastening things and the zipper. It's his hands that he's looking at when he talks. "I told the you that wasn't you that maybe I loved you. Because he was fascinated with the idea of being open about it. That you _could_ be." The vest goes on next, then the jacket, and Tommy gives Adam another one of those upside-down smiles. "Well? How do I look?" Hair pulled back, in a grey tux with black pinstripe, polished shoes, perfect tie (thanks to Adam), and fear mirrored in his eyes.

"You look amazing." Adam's barely got his shirt on, and his pants, socks and shoes. But he angles Tommy's chin up and says, "I love you too, you know." Adam's own smile is small, reflective maybe, but no less sincere.

It's nearly nine. Adam pushes his hair back from his face and sprays it, does his tie and dons his jacket. He looks good. Tommy looks good. For what it's worth, since it doesn't seem that they'll be interacting with live people tonight, that might mean no cameras. Should that be a relief? If only it were.

Right at nine, the room to their hotel opens silently.

Adam's beyond expletives or exclamations anymore. He buttons his jacket and takes Tommy's hand. Whatever's going to happen will happen. All they can do at this point, he realizes, is hang on for the ride. So he pockets the room key and holds on to Tommy's hand as they leave the room.

The hallway is the same, but different. There's a cage across the elevator instead of sliding steel doors, and when Tommy presses the button, there's the dim sound of a bell ringing somewhere. The elevator comes up and inside there's an operator who greets them both with a nod, substantial out of the corner of Tommy's eye and corporeal when he looks directly at him. Tommy tightens his fingers into Adam's.

In the lobby, the doors ping open and the operator pulls the cage across, wishing them both an excellent time tonight in a voice that's thin and papery. When they step out, it's like stepping into the past, full of golden lights and people who are long since gone. Ghosts. Tommy looks up at Adam and takes a deep breath.

Each time one of them brushes past them, it's like a cold breeze and Adam grits his teeth. He tucks Tommy's arm into his and looks around, spying the ballroom entrance a hundred or so yards away. That's where they'll go. "We'll get through this," he says to the both of them. "We'll get through this." It feels like his heart is beating _so hard_ that it's making him shake. He doesn't let that show on his face. In some ways, he thinks, this is a performance.

They can hear the orchestra before they go into the double doors. Trusting his instincts, Adam leads Tommy though and he looks around. "We should find _him_," he whispers. Montgomery Clift.

"I don't even know what he looks like," Tommy answers. The ballroom is full of celebrities from the looks of the clothing, but there are only a few that he recognizes. "Are you scared? I'm just- I'm waiting for these to turn into like, the librarian ghost from Ghostbusters. Gozer, you know?" From when Tommy had been joking. Before this night went sideways and caught them in some kind of real-life episode of Supernatural. "They're all dead, aren't they. The people here."

"I think so." Even the music sounds kind of tinny - like they're listening to it through a blown speaker. Adam will say this: the clothes are amazing. He shouldn't think that, of course, but he does. He stands, Tommy's arm still tucked in his and he looks around. "Tommy, there. Look." He points across the room. Against the wall leans a blond with a drink in her hand, looking ... sad. And beautifully ephemeral. "You said you wanted to see Marilyn Monroe."

"There she is," Tommy answers, his tone quiet. "Norma Jean." It's cold in here, too, and Tommy can't stop wondering _why_ they're here, _why_ it's them. This is a reminder of Old Hollywood: secrets and unhappiness, addiction and abuse, hidden beneath the glitter and sparkle of fame. Things have changed, but fuck, so many of them stay the same. "What do we do? Do we dance? Do we go to the bar? Oh my _god_, is that Lana Turner?"

Looking where Tommy was pointing, Adam nods. It looks like it. "I don't think we'd be able to drink anything - I bet it's not real," he says, taking everything in. "But go." He lets Tommy's arm go, hand in the small of his back. "Go talk to her. See if you can, anyway. I'll ... keep looking around." The fear, as it were, recedes to a constant hum. Somehow, this has become their warped reality. Just do what it occurs to them to do, Adam realizes.

It's just a party, right? On Hallowe'en, in a haunted hotel full of dead celebrities. This is what repeats over and over and over in Tommy's head. He was the one who'd scoffed at the idea of the place _actually_ being haunted, and yet, here they are being proven wrong in the grandest, most glamourous way. He hazards a dark glance at Adam before walking over to the blonde, a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. "Miss Turner?" Absurdly, there's a slew of Ghostbusters quotes that are _right there_ to say, but Tommy manages to hold them back.

The dress she wears is champagne cream silk, low-cut and flowing down over the curves of her body. Even if she doesn't quite look _real_, Lana Turner is _gorgeous_, her blond hair fingercurled, lips shining. She takes a long draw off her cigarette and looks around the room, searching, it seems, for something or someone. She blows out the smoke in a sigh, clearly, it seems, not seeing Tommy.

Adam, after watching this, turns to take in more of the room. He wants to find Montgomery Clift. If he was possessed, he wants to see by whom. See if he can _talk_ to him. Sure, it's insane, but isn't this whole situation insane? Of course it is.

When he looks over toward the bar, Adam stops, cold. Someone is looking _right_ at him. And when Adam meets his gaze, the man smiles. "That must be him," Adam whispers to himself and he takes a deep breath. A man who's classically handsome, but sad in the eyes. Here goes nothing, Adam thinks. He starts to walk over.

The bar is real enough when Adam touches it. That's a relief. And feeling almost paralyzed (with fear, or something else, he doesn't even know, not stopping to analyze it), he turns his head. The man is still smiling at him. "You're Montgomery Clift," he says. And the man nods.

"... you scared Tommy," Adam tells him, gripping the bar tightly, holding on to what he knows is real.

Mr. Clift looks away and down at his glass, nodding. He nearly looks remorseful, Adam thinks. Or Adam guesses. He knows nothing; it's all guessing, instinct, and hope.

"I'm sorry you're lonely," Adam tells him, watching that ephemeral profile. "We're supposed to help you, aren't we? Or I am."

And Clift looks at Adam again, and Adam can _swear_ it seems like he's pleading in his expression alone. But he doesn't speak. Or can't speak.

"I don't know _how_ to, though," Adam whispers, finding himself leaning closer to the ghost of the long-dead movie star. "I don't know how to help you."

In a flash he didn't seem coming, Adam feels _freezing_ cold pass through him like a wind that bites right into him. Then doesn't feel anything anymore.

The calibre of sound in the room is so thin that Tommy hears Adam's first words, looking toward him to see who he's talking to. There's a silent plea - _Don't let it happen again_ \- before he makes his way over, close enough to make sure Adam's safe, but far enough away so not to disturb what's happening.

Tommy recognizes a lot of the women now: yes, Lana Turner and Marilyn Monroe, but also Mary Pickford herself, Ava Gardner, Rita Hayworth, Greta Garbo and even Jayne Mansfield. He picks these names up easily even without being familiar with them, knowing them as if by osmosis, by simply _being_ here with them. They're beautiful, god, so beautiful, but it's Adam that holds his attention, solid, _real,_ amongst them.

The moment that Adam stiffens, though, Tommy closes the distance between them, looking up at him with concern and fresh fear. "Adam? Are you okay?"

When Adam turns, though, Tommy can tell that something's not quite right again. As if he's not sure what to do with himself, with long legs and those chipped-polish nails, with a body that's not one's own anymore. Adam splays his hands on the bar as if to steady himself. Around them, the music gets noticeably louder, richer, not seeming to be pushed through a poor filter again.

"Please," he says, his chin coming up, a hand extended. "Give me the pleasure of dancing with me?"

Tommy looks at Adam, helpless and scared, and takes his hand. "Okay." Because it _is_ Adam, somewhere, and there's nothing harmful about what Clift is doing to him. Well, other than using Adam's body for whatever means to an end. Maybe this is part of what they're supposed to do?

With Tommy's hand in his, Adam leads the way to the center of the polished wood dance floor. Above them the chandelier twinkles and shines, spreading a warm glow over the place and effortlessly, the orchestra shifts into a slower song as a singer comes to the stage behind the microphone and starts to sing.

"Thank you," Adam whispers, and his arm pulls Tommy close against his body, hand splayed in his back, bending so that they are cheek to cheek. The strings get louder and the music builds.

Tommy's _not_ a dancer, at least, not like this, and he has a flashback to a wedding he'd been a groomsman in and how awkward the wedding party's dance had been for him. But he follows the steps carefully, trying not to step on Adam's toes, glancing up into his face now and then, thinking that yes, for all that he and Adam haven't talked about what they have, what they do, what they feel, he is in love with him. For what it's worth. If Adam's in there. If they ever get out of this situation.

_That certain night,  
The night we met,  
There was magic abroad in the air.  
There were angels dining at the Ritz,  
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square._

I may be right, I may be wrong,  
But I'm perfectly willing to swear  
That when you turned and smiled at me,  
A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square....

While Tommy might not be a dancer, it's clear that Clift isn't used to having a taller body and it takes that first verse for him to grow more confident. When he does, he sways, turning Tommy a little, not looking at the people, shadows, shapes of people, who gather to watch from the edges of the floor. They are, after the first verse, the only people on the dance floor as their movements smooth out, grow more graceful, more fitting to the music.

_The moon that lingered over Londontown  
Poor puzzled moon, he wore a frown.  
How could he know that we two were so in love?  
The whole darn world seemed upside down._

The streets of town were paved with stars,  
It was such a romantic affair.  
And as we kissed and said goodnight,  
A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square...

"I always wanted to do this," Adam's voice in Tommy's ear says. "We couldn't. It would have been ... too much. It would not have been acceptable."

"He kissed me," Tommy answers. "In front of the whole world. On television. There wasn't any hiding. He doesn't hide who he is." It's easier to let himself be turned on the floor, to let Adam-Montgomery lead. "Makes me proud to be in his band. And to have this with him, too." It takes him a couple of verses to place the voice, and then a Christmas Song pops into his head and Tommy smiles. Nat King Cole. It's a voice that reminds him of Christmas when he was a kid. "You're doing it now... how does it feel?"

"It feels ... quite remarkable. You're a good dance partner," he's told and Adam's body leans back so they can look at each other face to face. Adam's eyes almost seem brown as they look at Tommy. "He kissed you on television ... tell me about that, please. I ... can't imagine it, but I want to."

Except that Tommy doesn't answer for the longest time. The singer continues to sing. Perhaps thinking he's not going to get an answer, the man who inhabits Adam's body pulls him close to dance again, concentrating on that instead.

_When dawn came stealing up, all gold and blue  
To interrupt our rendez-vous,  
I still remember how you smiled and said,  
"Was that a dream? Or was it true?"_

Our homeward step was just as light  
As the tap dancing feet of Astaire,  
And like an echo far away  
A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.

Tommy's not sure _how_ to tell this man that's wearing Adam how it felt, what it was like, but when the song is finished, he gets up on his toes, hands cupping the familiar shape of Adam's face, and kisses him. None of this is real, right? It's ghosts, it's hallucination. But Tommy still wants Adam back, wants to see those blue eyes instead of how they are now, dark and murky, looking at him as if he's unfamiliar.

Hands flutter at their sides as Adam is kissed, before they settle on Tommy's narrow hips and when it's done, Adam's eyes are entirely brown, sad and thankful at the same time. "On television. What a marvel." He chews on his lower lip for a moment. "That must have been something. Thank you. You have no idea what you've given me. I thank you."

Around them, the music swells, strings and the harp crescendoing to the end of the song before fading to silence. Total silence. Letting his head fall back, Adam, or Montgomery Clift, closes his eyes and sighs. Then Adam's body shakes again and when it does, everything about the room changes - the lights brighten and grow dull - the chandelier is no longer lit. The room around them, they realize, is empty and bare but for a few folding chairs leaning up against the wall.

Adam's grip tightens on Tommy's hips as he braces himself, only staggering half a step.

"Adam." Tommy's still got his hands on the sides of Adam's face, and yes, those eyes are blue again, and Tommy pulls him down into another kiss, hot and open and _glad_ that Adam's _Adam_. "Are you okay? All... all I did was kiss you. Him. Whatever. And everything disappeared."

"I'm fine," Adam tells him, his forehead leaning against Tommy's. "That was ... so strange. I could ... I mean, I could feel and see everything and when you kissed him - me - us? I don't even know, he was so _happy_. Just really happy. I ... do you think that was it? What we were supposed to do?"

"I kissed _you._" And Tommy does it again, and then a fourth time, as if making sure that the spell is broken. "I don't know what we were supposed to do, but..." He makes a gesture at the empty ballroom. "I think we should go back to our room, grab our stuff, and check out. Okay? Are you okay with that?"

"Yeah. Of course." Finding Tommy's hand (Adam's is cold, he knows this, but he holds on), Adam takes one more look around the empty room, up at the chandelier and then he walks with Tommy toward the closed doors. Just as they get there, one opens, though and a startled custodian says something very fast in Spanish.

"I'm sorry," Adam answers, heart having jumped at someone so suddenly appearing. "No habla espanol."

"No allowed in here," the custodian retorts with a wave toward the hallway. "Go now!"

"Oh, sorry," Adam is quick to answer, urging Tommy past. Once they're in the hallway, he starts to laugh. "We were where we weren't supposed to be," he titters out. "Imagine that." That that's what they're chided for is hilarious, actually. Ridiculously insane.

"Go now!" Tommy imitates, Adam's laughter unlocking his own. "Come on, I want to _go._ And then we can finish what we started before Montgomery Clift decided he wanted to be a voyeur with us being naked." He kisses Adam's knuckles, and pauses to look at the suit. "That isn't what you were wearing in the ballroom." No, it's something that's a little more Adam's style, shiny charcoal with a pinstriped grey shirt and a black tie. Okay, he still looks _hot_, and looks _much_ more like Adam than he had in the tux, and Tommy finds that he's relieved.

"It's different?" Adam hadn't even thought to look, but there's a mirror in the hallway and he stops to look. Sure enough, it's not the tuxedo he'd had before. And that makes him give Tommy a real look too. "Your tie is different, too. Wow. How weird." How were their _suits_ changed and they didn't even notice?!

Never mind. Weird can wait. They take the elevator to their floor and they get to the door. Had they even thought of taking a key when they left? Tommy's watch tells them that they've been gone less than an hour, but it feels like a _lifetime_ ago.

It doesn't matter. When Adam reaches for the door, it opens and he rushes Tommy inside and they both throw things in their bag, a chair used to prop open the door so it doesn't shut again.

Only a few minutes later, they're at the front desk. "We are," Adam tells the clerk with no room for argument. "Checking out."

"Of course, sir. Your name?"

"Adam Lambert."

"... right. Just a moment .... " And the clerk bends down to peer at his computer, tapping at the keyboard.

A moment later, he looks up again at Adam and Tommy. "Checking out, you say? We ... don't seem to show you checking _in_."

"But we checked in earlier," Tommy reasons, frowning. "We had problems with our room - Adam, you've got the key, right? - and Mr. Flug closed the pool for us and everything." To quote a movie, this is curiouser and curiouser. How could they not be on record as checking in? The room's in disarray, well, the bed is, at least, and the toiletries are used, towels, and they'd been in the _pool._ They'd be on security cameras, for sure.

"... the pool's closed for maintenance, sir ... " Truly, the clerk looks perplexed, pointing over their shoulder to the sign on the clear glass doors to the pool. "There's not even any water in it."

Adam pats down his pockets for the key; he has no idea if they grabbed the key or not and frankly, he doesn't care. "I ... " he turns to Tommy, his pockets empty. "I can't find the key." What is going _on_?!

"Let's just go, okay? Fuck all of this? This has been the weirdest night of my life." If they don't have a key, okay. If they didn't actually check in, sure. Tommy's halfway convinced that he's going to wake up with Adam's head on his shoulder and his arm'll be asleep. And they'll be naked, and there'll be cake beside the bed that Adam had delivered from one of those places that only Adam seems to know about. They'll be in _Adam's_ bed. He hopes.

With one more look at the clerk, Adam shakes his head, pulls his bag even higher on his shoulder and he walks away, slow enough to wait for Tommy to catch up. "My car's valet parked," he reminds him, but they find out that's not an issue, thank God.

The valet knows who he is, finds his keys and runs to get it. At least that one thing is going right. Soon enough, they're on the freeway back toward his house. But Adam finds he can't relax. He holds tight to the steering wheel with one hand and Tommy's knee with the other.

"We were only there for five hours," Tommy says softly. "It's not even eleven yet." Like he can't quite believe it. His hand sits on top of Adam's, fingers in the spaces between, and he looks straight out the windshield instead of at Adam himself. "How did all of that happen?" It's like _they'd_ been ghosts, too.

"I don't know," Adam tells him and he really doesn't know. "I guess we could ask someone. A psychic or something." _Adam Lambert says he was host for Montgomery Clift_. _Right_. People would think he was insane. Hell, at this point _Adam_ thinks he's insane. "I hope my house isn't haunted. I've kind of had my fill."

"Your house is new, dickface. Of course it's not haunted." Tommy closes his hand into a fist around Adam's fingers and finally looks at Adam's profile, at how the lights on the freeway glint out of eyes that are light instead of dark. "I don't want to ask anyone. I don't want to even talk about it with anyone except you, okay? Because it's Bee-Ess-See." Bat Shit Crazy. "Nobody'll even believe us."

"Don't call me dickface." It comes out sharp. Adam's a little frazzled, okay?! "I know they won't. So we don't talk about it." Which isn't what Adam's very good at. Talk = fallback, comfort zone. But amidst all that, he thinks about that feeling of happiness that he _knows_ wasn't his when Tommy kissed him in that ballroom. Happiness and wonder. And this suit sure as fuck wasn't his going in and he's not sure he wants it to be his now. He's not sure he wants to keep it. If it's a good idea.

"Okay, okay. Sorry." Tommy chews his lower lip, still watching Adam's profile. He lets go of Adam's hand to rest it on Adam's thigh. "What was it like, if you could see everything and feel everything, that time?" Was it different? Did Tommy's kiss feel different? He'd been trying to kiss _Adam;_ trying to bring Adam back to himself so they could get out of whatever alternative dimension they'd slipped into.

Taking a deep breath before answering, Adam says, "it kind of felt like ... just like I was along for a ride, like a movie done from that perspective, you know? Like I was there, but couldn't do anything, but I could feel what he felt and when he said he couldn't imagine it, he really couldn't. It was like ... I don't know ... something you want so bad that you can't imagine? You know?"

Tommy laughs, chin tipped downward, looking at his knee. "Yeah, I can imagine." He turns his grin in Adam's direction. "You forgot the first time we had sex?" Where Adam had had Tommy all but _begging_ for him. "Well... I'm glad that it's over, okay? Because that was... it freaked me out, for real."

"I don't think you and I can even begin to understand what it was like for someone like him, back then. He had _so much_ to lose, you know? And it made him a little crazy, maybe, I don't know. I mean, maybe he was just miserable." Adam knows he would have been, closeted, unable to express himself, or expressing himself and facing the recriminations of that. But he takes Tommy's hand and holds it again. "I'm glad it's over too. I didn't believe in ghosts before." But he does now.

"No, me either. I seriously wanted to camp out at that axe-murderer's place though, you know? Sleeping bags and beer - coolers for you, hah - but... if it's real, imagine what might have happened." He doesn't have much else to say for the rest of the ride, and he's _really_ glad to see Adam's community, knowing that his house isn't that far. "Hey, would it be weird if I spent a couple of days here? I don't know about you, but I'd kinda rather not be alone."

"That's good, yeah." Adam gives the guard - Joey - a smile and they're let through, then he drives the short way to his house, up the driveway and parking by the front door. They can climb out then and he can let them in, keying off and back on with the alarm. "We're not doing anything like that, ever again," he reminds Tommy, somewhat unnecessarily. He sets his bag down and undoes his tie. A tie he didn't tie, didn't put on and has never owned. "I'm going to pour tequila shots. You want one?" He asks as he kisses Tommy's forehead on his way to the cabinet in the living room.

"Three or four would be fucking great. Lime? Salt? Or is it tequila rose you're pouring?" Finding a smile from somewhere, Tommy follows Adam into the livingroom, flicking on lights as he goes. Nope, not tequila rose, it's Jose Cuervo, the _good_ stuff. "So, now that it's eleven and we're here, are we getting drunk and having a two person party? I'm still... this is still my birthday present. And I want it with you." The last six words come out low, almost embarrassed, because of the amount of anxiety that's in it from the hotel.

"We'll have whatever the fuck kind of party we want to have, baby. It's your birthday and I'm not going anywhere, okay?" Adam hands Tommy a shot glass and clacks them together. "I love you, okay? Just because we were in the middle of some kind of ... ghost story doesn't change that. Okay?"

That makes Tommy grin, and he holds his glass up in a toast. "Over the teeth and past the tongue, look out liver, here it comes." It goes back too easy. "I think we should get drunk and make out. Then pass out on the couch together and then I'll take us to McDonald's for a McBreakfast tomorrow. And this will have never happened." He sucks his lime and then kisses Adam, sour with citrus and hot with tequila.

An arm tight around Tommy's waist, Adam keeps kissing him, pulling him over to the bookcase against the wall to turn on the stereo, letting it play on random; it starts with Goldfrapp, "Rocket." Then he turns Tommy so that his back is against the wall. He's trying to forget what happened, actually, lose himself in the feel of Tommy's skin, his mouth. It doesn't quite work, but he keeps trying, keeping his eyes open to watch Tommy's reaction.

Tommy's lost easily in the way Adam kisses him, moves him, touches him in a way that vaguely matches the song. His hands come up to Adam's hair, then fall to his tie to loosen it, fingers picking at the buttons beneath. It's not even necessarily to get Adam naked - though that's always a bonus - but to get rid of the clothes that really weren't his to begin with, an adaptation from earlier in the ballroom.

Ties fall to the floor first, then their jackets. Tommy's hair falls out of the style Adam had forced it into, flipping over his eyes. Adam tucks it back and kisses Tommy again, hands cradling his face. The song segues into another, Muse this time, Adam isn't even paying attention at the moment as he undoes the buttons of Tommy's shirt.

Tommy's hands drop to his own waist, pulling the shirt out from where it's tucked in, and then does the same to Adam, hands meeting in the middle to rub down against his fly with the side of his index finger and the pad of his thumb. Almost like he's measuring Adam up in a way he knows _so_ well. Then it's easy to shrug his shirt back fom his shoulders to let it fall, too.

When Tommy touches him there, Adam shudders, goosebumps along his back, down over his ass as well. It's getting easier to forget, now, at least for a moment. Tommy's skin is warm and he can feel his own blood through his veins, confirming that the both of them are alive.

With Adam's reaction, it's easy to flick open the button and pull down the zipper, wrist turning palm-in to slide between skin and shorts, and Tommy tugs Adam's lower lip in his teeth. It's Adam he's touching, Adam he's kissing, feeling, and after a moment or two, stroking; what happened earlier could have been a dream, or a nightmare. This is real and it's what Tommy wants.

When Adam lifts a knee to step out of his pants and shoes, he leans in to kiss Tommy again, not aware the music has shifted again.

_That certain night,  
The night we met,  
There was magic abroad in the air.  
There were angels dining at the Ritz,  
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square...._

The first few lines don't even sink in in the growing heat of his arousal. But that last line of the first verse jerks Adam back, and he nearly falls with his pants around his ankles. "Turn it off, turn it _off!_"

Tommy doesn't mean to ditch Adam in favour of the stereo, but it means he can smack his hand against the power button, cutting off Nat King Cole's voice. He looks at Adam, who's got his pants around his knees and looks _terrified_, and thinks of what it had been like to be turned to that music by hands and feet that _knew_ the music, where he and Adam are more familiar with Goldfrapp, with Muse, even with GaGa. "It's okay, okay? Here, kick those fuckin' things off and c'mere, okay?"

"Are you kidding?! Are you telling me that that shit is _following us?!_" Adam pauses for a moment, but does kick off the pants. All the better to get them off. In fact, he gestures for Tommy to take his pants off too, and he gathers up all of the suit parts and the shoes too, and he carries them to the front door, pulls the door open despite the beeping alarm and tosses them onto his front stoop. He shuts the door, resets the alarm and leans against the wall.

Tommy stands in the livingroom, arms crossed over his chest, hips tilted. "Adam. Serious shit. Get over here, now." While Adam had been getting rid of the clothes, Tommy went through all the music on the stereo, and there was no Nat King Cole on any of the playlists. Not even in the files, not one song. On closer look, it's more like Tommy's hugging himself, skin raised in goosebumps... again.

"What? Baby." Adam came over, gathering Tommy up into his arms. "Come on. This is ridiculous, right? Ridiculous. We ... did something insane tonight, that's all. It's just a series of coincidences. That's all. That's ... that's fucking all it is. Come on." No more drinking, just ... going upstairs. That's what they're going to do. Go upstairs.

Upstairs, there's Adam's bed and Adam's body and it's all so familiar and _so_ sexy, and Tommy keeps his shorts on as he pushes Adam back onto the bed. There's no music on now, the TV's untouched, and the warmth of Adam's skin dissolves Tommy's goosebumps easily. Just coincidences, right? He kisses under Adam's jaw, and there's something desperate about the way his mouth hits Adam's skin: remember now, forget before.

It's not easy. In fact, Adam kind of _can't_ forget. Every time he closes his eyes, he kind of freaks out, until he has Tommy by the shoulders and shakes his head. Call it supernatural-induced performance anxiety.

Which sucks, no lie. But ... well, Adam isn't going to be _too_ hard on himself after all. Lesser men, he likes to think, would crumble under what they've been through. He leans against the headboard and holds Tommy tight as he stares at nothing. He's waiting for something, maybe. He's not even sure what. But he's ready.

"How long are you gonna sleep with the lights on?" Tommy asks, arms settling around Adam's waist, instead. "I'm thinking probably a week, for me. I don't even want to turn the radio on right now, you know? Just in case." Or the TV, which had shown The Misfits on every channel, as if they were being taunted. But when Tommy had kissed Adam, the entire thing had melted away like snow in the sun, and it seems to be over. "You wanna get under and just lie here?"

"I don't want to be, like a conduit or anything. I don't want to be _anything_ but me." It comes out kind of sulky as Adam gets the covers so that they're over both their laps, though he's still kind of sitting up, keeping watch, Tommy close. "You should stay here," Adam tells him. "You ... or. " Or maybe it's _them_ that's the conduit.

That's like the _worst thought ever_.

"Me, or what? Man, I want you to be you, too. I don't want to be... I don't know. Used for experience, or something, you know?" Tommy tucks himself closer to Adam, smushing a pillow under his ass, but he doesn't care. "You said yourself it was just a coincidence. That that song came on. Except... it wasn't on your playlist. And it's not even on your player. It just... came on."

"I don't want to talk about it," Adam decides. He's got goosebumps again and not in a good way. "I don't know. I ... maybe we should sleep and when we sleep it'll be all better. We'll be ... It'll be like a dream. Right? Is that possible?" He asks, to himself as much as to Tommy.

"Yeah, okay," Tommy agrees. "Tomorrow, we'll go out for breakfast, okay? And I'm going to buy a shitload of Hallowe'en candy now that it'll be cheap. You can even come and hang out at my place, okay? It's like, the least-scary place in the universe." He finds Adam's hand under the covers and kisses his knuckles. "I'm really sorry. This was my idea."

"Does it - I mean... " Adam leans back and turns Tommy's chin so that they're looking at each other. "It doesn't change how I feel. About you. I mean, I still love you. I don't want that to change. I want ... I just want it to not be weird, you know?"

"I know." Tommy takes that as a cue to straddle Adam's lap. It's easier to look at him that way, easier to talk to him, and easier to hug him. "Doesn't change how I feel, either. I kinda thought we were just... you know. Fucking. Or whatever. And being friends. It's kinda not that way at all and I'm really cool with that." Tommy uses his thumb to smudge the soft eyeliner under Adam's left eye, and cocks a little smile. "I don't think it'll get much weirder than this, so I think we're okay."

Seeing how Tommy smiles, how _sweet_ he looks, how he _smiles_, Adam can't help but smile back, letting that warmth war with the tightness in his chest that doesn't seem to go away. "... you've seen more of those kinds of movies than I have ... this is ... I mean, it's _over_ right? Over-over?"

Adam might ask that, but from what Tommy's seen in movies, it's _never_ over-over. He doesn't have the heart to tell Adam that, though, and only leans down to touch their mouths together. "Yeah." He hates lying to Adam. And it feels like a really nasty lie to tell, especially after last night.

"Good." Adam tightens his arms around Tommy's thin waist and snuggles him up against his chest. If that's the case, then, it's done. They just have to ... wait it out, or something. That's all. And worst case scenario, they ... have an exorcism. Right? A young priest and an old priest?

Right.

~~

It takes a long time for Adam to fall asleep, and honestly, he's not sure he actually does. When the sun comes up, his eyes feel gritty and he aches pretty much all over. Gently, he strokes down Tommy's back (they're still kind of sitting up a little. Bad idea, ugh).

Tommy twitches before opening his eyes, and it's to Adam's face, still tired, those blue eyes bloodshot and heavy with fatigue rather than anything else. "You alright?" A kiss is pressed to the corner of Adam's mouth before Tommy stretches, all snaps and crackles and pops, giving Adam space to stretch out, too. "You want me to go make some coffee?"

"Tea, please," Adam said sliding his legs over the edge of the bed, arching his back. "I'll start the shower and it'll be really hot when you get back, okay? Then we can go out, like you said. And ... just go out." He reaches behind himself to squeeze Tommy's hand.

"Well, yeah, tea for you." Tommy presses his fists against the small of Adam's back when he stretches, and then squeezes Adam's finger's back. "Sounds like a good fucking deal." The corners of his eyes tighten as he tries to stifle a smile. "Watch, I'll go downstairs and there'll be, like, a burned Ouija board on the table." Oh, wait. Maybe Adam hasn't seen Paranormal Activity. Tommy's not about to suggest it, either, but the joke's already out.

"Shut up," Adam tells him, but it's said tiredly and then he's headed to the bathroom and Tommy can hear the shower come on. The water feels _amazing_ and the heat helps to work out the kinks, even if he does keep his eyes open as much as he can. After a few minutes, he calls out, "Tommy?"

Maybe he shouldn't have let Tommy go downstairs by himself.

Just then, the door flicks open and Tommy's handing Adam a cup of tea. "Hi, right here. Nothing exciting down there." He climbs in behind Adam, holding his hand over the top of his cup so the water doesn't get into it. "You didn't drop the soap or anything, did you? Nothing weird happened?"

"Nothing weird, no." But Adam leans down to plant a water-wet kiss on Tommy's mouth. "I just ... I'm glad you're here," he says, instead. He takes the cup and leans _way_ over to set it on the vanity, then he urges Tommy under the water. "Let's get out of here and go do something in the Hollywood sun, huh?"

"Not too much sun. You saw what happened in Cabo. And in the Dominican. And in Jamaica. I think if I spend too much time in sun of any kind, I'm gonna combust." Tommy sets his cup on the soap holder and wraps his arms around Adam. "I'm glad I'm here, too. And I'm really sorry it happened." Tommy lifts his chin to let the water hit his face, and after shaking his hair back, he looks at Adam. "And I'll kiss you outside of some place and we can watch Twitter explode. Sound good?"

It actually gets Adam to laugh, that idea. "Okay. But no more talking about what may or may not have happened and about combusting. Shower. I'm done. We'll get ready and we'll go." Another kiss and he steps out of the shower and starts to dry himself off, making sure he can see Tommy through the beveled glass.

He's quick, just shampooing his hair and rinsing the rest of himself down, and it's when Tommy steps out that he realizes something. He and Adam are _definitely_ something. "I've got clothes here, don't I?" Which means, well. All these things they never talked about are pretty much obvious. _You care about him. The look on your face..._ One towel hides his face a'la Muhammad Ali, and another's wrapped around his waist. "No talking. Got it. Kissing? Kissing. But I got it, no talking."

Tommy looks so adorable like that that Adam can't resist hugging him up tight and kissing first that upturned nose that makes him smile, then that ridiculously cute mouth. "Your clothes are in the closet, second drawer down."

Yes, Tommy has a drawer at Adam's place.

All Adam does is don a little bit of liner and put enough gel in his hair to keep it under a modicum of control, then he gets dressed: t-shirt, jeans and a jacket. His wallet goes into his pocket, sunglasses on his head and the tea is drunk; he's ready to go.

Well, look at that. Tommy gets his clothes out and sees what else is in there: a couple of pairs of his socks, about six pair of underwear (oops), and one more t-shirt. _That's_ where that striped shirt went, jeez. Tommy's been looking _everywhere_ for it. He gets dressed and finger-combs his hair to the side, and digs his hoodie out of his backpack from last night. He leaves his half-drunk coffee in the shower for Adam to find later. "Ready." Are the clothes still on the front stoop?

They find that the clothes are gone. All gone.

Adam chooses not to think about that. (There is a growing number of things he's refusing to think about.) But he unlocks the door for Tommy then goes around to the driver's side and climbs in and starts the car.

So far so good.

Out of the driveway onto the street and past the guardbooth. Out toward the highway. Adam finds himself relaxing a bit at a time, his hand on Tommy's leg again. "Turn on the radio, baby. I think I've got Gaga on the player."

For a fraction of a second, Tommy's dead-set _sure_ they're going to hear Nat King Cole when he turns the radio on. But no, it's Gaga, it's _good_, and Tommy turns it _way_ up, tipping his face up at the California sun, bobbing his head to the sound of the music. Combust away. And as long as they don't look in the rear-view mirror into the backseat, it's _fine_.

They don't. And Adam never does buy any music by Nat King Cole. It just never occurs to him.

~~

_Roosevelt Hotel loses a guest_

For ages, it was thought that Montgomery Clift was a lodger at the historic hotel, located in downtown Los Angeles. Opened first in 1927, the Roosevelt played host to the first Academy Awards. Since then, it's continued to play host to some, they say, who've never left, even if they've shuffled off this mortal coil. Clift, who lived at the Roosevelt while filming For Here to Eternity_ is one such 'guest.' But hotel employees say that it's been months since the tortured, closeted actor's ghost has been spotted wandering the hallways or practicing his trumpet. There has been no explanation for what might be a permanent disappearance._

Additionally, the 'cold spot' said to be in the dance floor of the Blossom Room has vanished. Fans of Marilyn Monroe will be glad to know, however, that the blond bombshell can still be seen in the occasional mirror'd reflection.

There's been no explanation offered for the change, but ghosthunters are sure to be keeping their eyes and ears open.


End file.
